FrUK: My Beloved
by SmartasticalFiction
Summary: It's a special day for Francis Bonnefoy; so he dresses up and goes on a casual stroll, remembering all of the memories he shared with Arthur Kirkland. Human! AU.


*November 01, 2014*

Francis left his house on a Saturday.

He was especially dressed up today, for it was a special occasion. He wore a crisp white suit, neatly pressed. His silky blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and his black shoes shone in the morning sunlight.

In his hand, he held a bouquet of fresh Tudor roses. Tucked away in an inside pocket, was a small wrapped box.

 _What a beautiful morning_ , Francis thought.

 _Arthur would love it._

The first place Francis went to was the park near his small townhouse. It was a lovely place, a stretch of bright green grass with large trees scattered throughout. Narrow sidewalks winded through the area, and occasionally, a bench under a tree would provide a cool, shady spot to sit.

Already, the park was teeming with life— young children playing among the brightly colored leaves, couples strolling, elderly people reading on the benches. As for Francis, he held on to his bouquet and made his way to the bridge at the center of the park which overlooked a small stream.

This was where he first met Arthur Kirkland.

The Frenchman remembered when he first ran into the irritable Brit one fine afternoon. He had been standing at this exact spot, staring off into the shimmering water. Francis had admired him for a moment; though he wasn't exactly the most attractive man he ever met (that credit went to his friend Antonio), he was certainly striking in appearance— especially those eyebrows. Francis finally walked up to the man and initiated conversation.

The two of them didn't get along too well on that first day. But Francis had told Arthur that he looked forward to meeting him again, in this exact spot, the next afternoon. Arthur swore he would do no such thing and that he wanted nothing to do with this "bloody git."

And yet, Arthur met Francis on that spot on the bridge the very next afternoon.

Now afternoon, the sun shone brightly overhead. Many people had noticed Francis' formal attire earlier that day, and inquired as to the occasion, to which Francis simply responded,  
"I am going to see my beloved."

Francis was now headed to a local restaurant where he always went for lunch, sometimes for dinner. He sat under the shade of a red-and-white umbrella. After ordering lunch, he took a moment to admire his bouquet of flowers he knew were Arthur's favorite.

This was the place where he and Arthur had their first date.

He remembered sitting outside with Arthur, on that chilly yet beautiful evening. Arthur looked especially handsome that night, though he claimed that he didn't bother to dress up. They ordered soup and a bottle of wine, and spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing and enjoying themselves under the stars. Though neither of them thought to explicitly say it, they were beginning to grow fond of each other, beginning to feel for each other. Francis remembered calling Arthur "his beloved" that night.

After finishing up his lunch and leaving a generous tip, the Frenchman walked to one of his favorite spots— the lake along the edge of the city. He found boating in the lake to be relaxing, calming, a surefire way to relieve him of stress and worry.

This was he and Arthur shared their first kiss.

He remembered how he had dragged the uneasy Brit onto his rowboat and promised him a "good, relaxing boat ride out on the lake." Arthur had declined several times, claiming he was afraid of water and he couldn't swim. But Francis pressed on, and Arthur reluctantly gave in.

He remembered the abruptness of it, how he had stared at Arthur for quite a long time, how his gaze traced the sparkle of his alert, darting eyes, his perky nose, before finally settling upon his soft lips.

Arthur noticed the Frenchman staring at him. He asked him what was wrong. That was when Francis smoothly pressed his lips onto Arthur's.

Arthur protested at first, but eventually gave way to the persistent Frenchman. They embraced softly at first, but their kisses grew in length and in intensity. Francis hungrily took in a salty-vinegar taste in Arthur's mouth, which he otherwise would have considered revolting. Arthur's fingers found their way to Francis' hair. He enjoyed the feeling of the British man's slim, careful fingers tangling in his hair. Francis could still remember the passion erupting within him as he involuntary held on to his beloved, pulling him closer and closer…

The couple broke apart after a while, both of them flushed in awe and bewilderment. Francis smiled as he remembered Arthur swearing and softly punching him in the arm. And how he reminded the Brit that he got the relaxing boat ride he had promised. And how that led to more cursing, which dissolved into cuddles for the rest of the boat ride.

 _Actually_ , Francis thought, _all of my memories with Arthur make me smile._

My beloved makes me smile.

The sun was now beginning its descent into the Western horizon. The golden light cast elongated shadows across the scratchy, untrimmed grass. The cool autumn wind sliced through the air like a knife.

This was Francis' last destination for the special day. He walked carefully through the grass, still carrying the Tudor roses from morning. He stopped, pulled out the small box in his pocket, smelled his bouquet, gently kissed it.

And he laid down the box and the bouquet, in front of the gravestone.

For today, today was the day when, one year ago, Francis would have proposed to his beloved, the man who walked the earth no more, but lived on in his heart.

 _*In Loving Memory of Arthur Kirkland— Born 23rd of April, 1991— Died 01st of Nov., 2013— May his beautiful soul rest in peace.*_


End file.
